


The Box

by ChromaticWasp



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2649581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChromaticWasp/pseuds/ChromaticWasp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike takes Doll to his family's home for Thanksgiving.</p><p>However, things take a drastic turn when Mike finds a box in the attic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Box

**Author's Note:**

> [[Author's Note: I don't own Mike, Doll, or anybody canon.
> 
> This story is inspired by and dedicated to my Senpai Rebornica.
> 
> Also, Mike's parents are alive. Fuck it.]]

The Box

Doll sat in the passenger seat, absently staring out the window. "So, your family, what are they like?" She turned to face him.  
"They're nice." He said, slightly smiling as he reminisced about his family. "Ma's the kind of lady who can make the worst kind of day into something pretty good...And when she cooks! Hope you're hungry."  
"Starving." Doll nodded.  
"Dad...Well, Dad's an odd kind of guy. He's the calmest person I know. Likes to put his feet up, relax with a cold one, that kind of thing."  
"Sounds like someone I know." She grinned, looking over at him.  
"Smart, too. Real smart. He always knows what to say...Well, not always."  
"What do you mean?"  
"He thinks he's a regular George Carlin. Got some wisecrack for everything. Hardly any of them are any good. I tell him. Tell him he should stick to his day job. There's a reason he's an electrician, I tell him, not a stand-up man. He says the same goddamn thing every time. 'If a batter hit every pitch, baseball wouldn't be fun.' Every time."  
He rolled his eyes. "Then there's Oswald. My mom's brother."  
"What's he like?"  
"He's a smug, condescending asshole."  
"What does he do for a living?"  
"He's a priest. He never knows quite when he isn't at a pulpit, the way he goes on and on sometimes."  
"Hmm. Your whole family Christian?"  
"Everyone but Ralph."  
"Who's Ralph?"  
Mike's mouth shut. It had occurred to him that he had never told Doll about Ralph.  
"Mike? Who's Ralph?"  
"He's...He's my brother."  
Doll paused for a moment. "He's your what?" She asked flatly.  
"My older brother. Seven years older."  
"Wow." She said. "Wow. And you didn't tell me?"  
"The two of us aren't exactly...Close. We're two very different people."  
"But you still didn't tell me you had a brother."  
"Because it doesn't matter."  
"What else haven't you told me, Mike?"  
"I work at a demented fucking pizza joint with killer fuckbots." He wanted to say, but didn't. Truth was, he came to realize in that moment just how much he's lied to her before. He sighed. "I'm sorry, okay?"  
She wasn't speaking.  
Neither was he.  
They pulled into the drive, and Mike stopped the car. The two got out, and Mike led her up to the front door. He pressed the doorbell, and was greeted with the sound of the Westminster Quarters. The door swung open. Michael's mother, a short, average-looking woman, opened the door. "Mikey!" She hugged her son. "It's so good to see you!" She pulled away, looking at Doll. "And you must be Mikey's girl. I've heard great things about you. Mikey talks about you whenever he calls, which, in my opinion, is not often enough, young man." She reprimanded Mike briefly before continuing in her warm cheery tone. "Why don't you two come in? Dinner'll be ready in a pinch."  
"Thanks, Ma." He said, stepping inside, Doll close behind.  
The living room had that cozy sort of home feel. The instant he walked in, the usually tense Michael's shoulders slumped in relaxation. Mike's father sat in his chair in the corner, watching the television. He absently waved to Mike as he continued to watch the screen. Doll was stunned to realize how similar Mike and his father looked. She wondered if Mike would look exactly like that in about 20 years.  
The thought intrigued her. What would things be like for the two of them in about 20 years? She imagined Mike sitting in that chair, and her sitting on the couch.  
The couch where currently, a man in his late 20s sat besides a young woman who looked only a few years older than Doll. She rested her hand on the hand of the man next to her, smiling softly behind a pair of thick glasses. She had a diamond ring on her left hand and was very well into the third trimester of pregnancy.  
A man who looked about the same age as Mike's parents- who she assumed must have been Oswald, sat in another chair and spoke to the man on the couch.  
"When's the date?" Oswald asked.  
"In about a month." The pregnant woman replied cheerily.  
Doll and Mike sat at another couch, which sat opposite the one the young married couple occupied.  
"Hey, Mike! Good to see you!" The man in the glasses said.  
"Yeah, you too, Ralph." Mike said, faking interest.  
So that was Ralph. Mike seemed to be right- they were very different people. Mike's stiff and vigorous mannerisms completely contrasted the calm and laid-back behavior of his brother. They didn't even look similar. Doll couldn't believe Ralph was the older brother by seven whole years- he barely looked as old as Mike.  
"Hello, Mike." Oswald said. "Would you like to introduce us to this lovely young woman?"  
"This is my girlfriend, Doll." Mike said to the group. "Doll, that's my dad over there." He pointed to the man in the armchair.  
"Sullivan. The name's Sullivan." Mike's father said gruffly.  
"And that's my brother Ralph, and his wife Jane." Jane waved shyly, leaning into Ralph's shoulder.  
"Nice to meet you." Ralph said, putting his arm around his wife. Noticing this, Mike scooted a bit closer to Doll.  
Doll looked off to the side uncomfortably as she realized what Mike had done, and why. She couldn't believe him. She saw a lamp on the end table beside her.  
The lamp was eye-catching. The shade was a light, thin plastic that made it almost painfully bright. The lamp itself was made with a variety of pieces of colored glass, like a mosaic. It looked nice, at least for a lamp.  
She looked back at Mike, who was still staring down Ralph. She couldn't believe how immature Mike was acting. It was completely disgraceful.  
"So, Mike, how have things been for you? I heard you found employment. Where do you work?" Ralph said.  
"I'm the night guard at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria."  
In that moment, the entire atmosphere shifted in the room. Doll felt it at her very core. Everyone seemed a bit colder in that moment.  
Everyone but Jane, who seemed just as unsettled as Doll. Doll shot Jane a confused look, to ask if she knew what was going on. Jane shrugged slightly. She was just as confused.  
Ralph cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. "Really?" He said, attempting to seem subtle. It didn't work. His discomfort showed clearly. The same kind of discomfort you feel when you realize something is stuck in your shoe, or when your leg falls asleep.  
"Yeah. It's a pretty sh..." He looked over at Oswald before trailing off suddenly. "It's a pretty lousy job," continued Mike, "but it keeps the lights on."  
Ralph just slowly nodded.  
"How about you, Doll?" Sullivan piped up. "What do you do for a living?"  
"I work in the kitchen at a country club a couple towns over." She said, very happy to change the topic.  
"Ritzy." He raised an eyebrow.  
"What's the pay like?" Oswald said.  
"Not nearly as good as you would think." She sighed.  
"I know the feeling." Oswald smiled.  
"You know the feeling?" Jane scoffed. "I'm a high-school math teacher."  
"Really? Where at?" Doll said.  
"Here."  
Doll stared for a moment. "What was your maiden name?"  
"Elwin. Why?"  
"Miss Elwin?" Doll's eyes widened. "Did you student teach for Mr. Jackholdt?"  
"Yeah. How did you know?" Jane was astonished.  
"You mean you don't remember me?"  
Jane shook her head.  
"Dolly Kovac?" She said in an attempt to prompt her memory.  
"Sorry, I don't recall a Dolly Kovac."  
"I wrote in purple ink on every assignment."  
Jane gasped. "Oh my gosh, I remember that! Ohhh, for real? I had you in my class?"  
"Yeah!"  
"That's insane! Oh, this is the craziest thing." She laughed.  
"I know! What are the chances?"  
"Was she a good student, Jane?" Sullivan leaned forward in his chair.  
"Other than that purple pen? She was a great student. God, you look amazing." Jane marveled at her former student.  
"Was she a good teacher, Doll?" Mike asked.  
"Yeah." Doll said, before moving slightly out of Mike's grasp. She didn't want him to seem so protective of her; he was behaving foolishly.  
Mike came to realize this, and, looking a bit hurt, moved away from her.  
"Yeah." She repeated. She looked around the room and saw everyone was staring at her. She had just humiliated Mike, and even worse, herself. She turned red and shrunk under their eyes. She felt angry with herself.  
"So, a security guard. What's that like?" Jane attempted to rescue her former student.  
"Basically, I sit around in an office at unholy hours of the morning and watch a whole lot of nothing happen."  
"How's the pa-"  
"Dinner smells great!" Doll interjected. The last thing she needed was for Mike's salary to become a conversation topic.  
"I told you, Ma's cooking, Doll. Best chef in the state."  
Doll turned to face him. "Really? The best?" The kitchen worker asked dryly.  
"Yeah. The best."  
This shouldn't have angered Doll as much as it did, but she was reaching her limit. She wanted to say something, but couldn't. She couldn't stand it. The way he was acting so immature, like she was some sort of prize, like it was some sort of game between him and his brother, and that last comment made her feel like he didn't care at all.  
"Well. Is it hot in here?" She asked.  
"Maybe a little hot." Jane agreed.  
"I'm burning up."  
"I can tell. Your face is pretty red." Jane said sympathetically. "Would you feel better if we stepped outside for a bit?"  
Doll was thankful that Jane was looking out for her. "Yeah. That sounds lovely."  
"Let's go." She stood up, walking out with Doll following.  
None of the men in the room could even begin to react. Something was going on and none of them had a clue what. Doll looked at Mike briefly before slamming the door behind her.

* * *

CRASH!  
With a loud noise, the lamp on the end table, jostled by the force of the slammed door, hit the ground, shattering into pieces.  
Mike gasped. "Oh, Christ, I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't- she didn't mean to-"  
"Don't worry about it, son. We got plenty more of 'em in the attic."  
"But I thought that lamp was handmade." Ralph looked confusedly at his father.  
"It was. But so are the ones in the attic."  
"I'm confused." Mike said.  
"Well, when we were younger, your mother and I decided to make a bunch of lamps to pay for...Things." Sullivan said hesitantly. "You know how great an artist your mother is. She made the most beautiful lamps, and I made sure that they worked properly. Problem was, we made too many. Sure, plenty of people bought them, but the trouble with lamps is that you don't buy more than one most of the time. It's no big deal, really, Mike." He stood from his chair. "Ralph, help me clean this up. Mike, do me a favor and head on up to the attic. Grab another lamp, and it'll be like the whole thing never happened."  
"Right. Sure thing, Dad." Mike stood up, heading towards the attic.

* * *

Doll sat on the porch steps, bundling up against the cold. Jane sat beside her, putting her arm around the younger woman.  
"It's just...Did you see how he was acting in there, Jane? He was...He was treating me like I was some kind of award, like I was a prize or something."  
"I saw it, too, but you shouldn't get the wrong impression. I mean, the way you're going on, it seems to me that you think he's just using you to try to make his brother envious. But you don't really think..."  
Doll looked at her with tears in her eyes.  
"Oh." She realized. "Oh my God, I...No, honey, that really isn't it. I-I mean, that couldn't be it. Because, well, first off, that doesn't make any sense, because this is the first time we've met, Mike and I. And besides, even if it was a competition, well, I wouldn't have a snowball's shot in hell at even coming close. I mean," she laughed sadly, "look at you."  
Doll nodded gently. "Thanks."  
"Do you want to go back in?"  
"No, I just...It's nice, out here. And we've got plenty to talk about. I haven't seen you since high school, after all."  
"Alright. Well, let's catch up then."

* * *

"This goddamn attic. What a fucking mess." Mike grumbled to himself as he rummaged about the clutter and dust. Where the fuck were these lamps anyway? He kicked aside a box, and it turned over on its side, opening up. A singular object fell out.  
"Oh, great." He should probably take care of that. He went over to pick it up, and froze in his tracks.  
It was a stuffed red fox with a hook and eyepatch.  
He suddenly felt sick. "Foxy?" What was that doing here?  
He picked up the raggedy old doll slowly and hesitantly, and examined the box.  
In black marker, five letters were written: "FF: DNO".  
"DNO?" He thought it over for a minute, before it occurred to him. "Do Not Open."  
But the two Fs? It couldn't be...Could it?  
He looked back at the toy in his hand.  
"Freddy Fazbear's...Do Not Open." He got that sick feeling in his gut. The handwriting, it was his mother's. Why did she write that? What was in the box?  
It said not to open it, and Mike didn't want to betray his mother's instructions. But this plush toy, it...It made him curious.  
He knew what he was doing was certainly wrong. It had to be. But he had to do it.  
Placing it back upright, with a great deal of hesitancy, Michael ignored the box's instructions, and opened it up.

* * *

Mike's mother walked back into the living room. "Sullivan, what was that noise?"  
"Lamp broke. Mike's grabbing a new one from the attic. Taking a long time, though."  
"And Jane and Doll? Where are they?"  
Ralph hiked a thumb over his shoulder to the front door. "Getting some air."  
"Hmm. Do you think he might need any help up there?"  
"Nah." Sullivan said, picking up the light bulb from the lamp and tapping it against his head. "He's pretty bright."  
She stared at her husband blankly, blinking a few times before turning to her brother. "Oswald, if I kill my husband in his sleep, is that considered a sin?"  
"I'm afraid so, Sara."  
"Damn."

* * *

A small eyepatch. A bandana. A fake hook-hand, child sized. These seemed like foreign ruins of old, ancient alien artifacts, and yet the bore some sort of familiarity for Mike. He dug deeper into the box: all sorts of merchandise like tokens and tickets and stickers and knickknacks. All of them bearing the resemblances of the animatronics in cartoonish fashion. "Where did these come from?" He was starting to get a headache, and he wasn't sure why.  
Underneath the sea of trinkets and logos laid photographs. They were taken at a place Mike did not remember. He saw a photo of himself sitting in front of a cake. There were candles on top- one of them were shaped in the number "8". A birthday party? He didn't recall a birthday party. And yet, he wanted to. He wanted to recall these events, but he couldn't. Everything before 7th grade was slightly blurry, and he didn't know why. It often kept him unable to sleep whenever the thought crossed his mind. His life was a series of confusing events adding up to a painful existence. He remembered faces of people, friends. But that was about all he remembered of them.  
...He didn't like to think about it.  
He dug deeper, beneath the photographs, and he found notes. Handwritten cards and pieces of scrap paper.  
"Sara and Sullivan,  
Praying for God's healing at work in your boys. Mike and Ralph are two wonderful kids, and I hope that they may find peace in these times of pain. I hope their recovery goes smoothly. My family and I are praying for yours every day. I can't imagine what you're going through right now, but I can tell you that God will bring you through it. We love you, and your amazing children.  
~With Love,  
Sherry"  
"'I hope their recovery...' What the hell is she talking about?"  
Mike could only think of one time this card would make sense- the accident. But Ralph wasn't there. He wasn't hurt. Why did it say "their" recovery?  
And...Why was it in a box labeled "Freddy Fazbear's"? Hidden away in the attic with instructions not to open it. There was something being hidden, some big secret. There had to be an explanation.  
He opened the next card.  
"The Schmidts,  
My name is Jill. I'm a waitress at Freddy Fazbear's. Well, I guess I was a waitress at Freddy Fazbear's. I had to write to you- I feel awful about what happened to your kids, especially Mike. I can't sleep at night, thinking about what happened to those poor kids.  
I could've done something. I should've done something. And I'm sorry. I hope this letter means to you as much as it does to me. Just writing this, telling you how I feel, and how sorry I am, I feel like a great weight is lifting off my shoulders.  
I pray for the best for your sons, and I hope that things work out for the best.  
I'm sorry.  
~Jill."  
What was this? None of this made any sense, and the more Mike thought about it, the more confused he got. It was like his whole world was being turned on its head. He looked at one more note. This one was different- it seemed more corporate.  
"To the family of Michael and Ralph Schmidt,  
We here at Fazbear Entertainment are terribly sorry for the events that transpired. What happened was beyond our control and furthermore, our understanding. Enclosed in this envelope is a check for $10,000. We hope you accept it as our most sincere apology.  
~Fazbear Entertainment Co."  
10 grand? For what? Why were they apologizing? He reached under his hat to scratch his head, and his hand ran over one of his scars.  
It all clicked together in that moment.  
"God's healing"  
"These times of pain"  
"I hope their recovery goes smoothly."  
"a waitress at Freddy Fazbear's"  
"what happened to your kids"  
"especially Mike"  
He ran his hands over his scars. His mom had said it was a car accident- he had been struck down. But...But what really happened?  
He had been lied to. All his life. But now, he was opening the box and he was determined to find the truth.  
The bottom of the box was close. He was about to figure it all out.  
He found a black wig. He remembered it- his parents had given it to him to wear after the incident had left him bald. It didn't work for long- so he started wearing the hat instead.  
Looking at it with disgust, he tossed it over his shoulder.  
Newspaper clippings. Headlines like "Disaster In Lewfield- Six Dead, Two Hospitalized" "Local Pizzeria Closing Its Doors" "'Keep the Lights On For Mikey': A Local Family's Attempt to Recover From Recent Disaster".  
He felt a rush of pain in his head, somewhere between a migraine and vertigo. It shook him to the core.  
He skimmed over the articles: phrases jumped out at him.  
"Freddy suit"  
"Animatronics"  
"Struggle"  
"bodies were never recovered"  
"Storage room"  
"11th birthday"  
"before killing himself"  
"could not be reached for comment"  
"In an attempt to protect Michael, Ralph sustained minor injuries"  
"The brothers are in recovery"  
"Bit into his skull"  
"Severe damage to the frontal lobe"  
"Operation"  
"Financial compensation"  
"Could not be reached for a statement"  
"Sara's brother, Oswald"  
"Generous outreach from the congregation"  
"Incident"  
"Presumed dead"  
There were photos. Eight pictures. Five children, all of whom seemed so familiar. A picture of Ralph, when he was 18, and Mike when he was 10.  
And then a picture of a man. He didn't recognize the man, but his face terrified Mike.  
"Hospitalized"  
"Insane"  
"Blood"  
"Surgery"  
"Memorial"  
So many words jumped out, each one so ominous and painful to see.  
"Lamp"  
He stopped. Lamp?  
It was the third article: "Keep the Lights On for Mikey".  
"Handmade lamps to help fray the costs of Michael's operation".  
He remembered what his father had said earlier.  
"Well, when we were younger, your mother and I decided to make a bunch of lamps to pay for...Things."  
"Things."  
Mike was stunned, but after a lot of contemplating, he managed to piece it all together.  
They had gone to Freddy Fazbear's for his 11th birthday. He didn't remember it being open. He remembered someone had said something to him about the "Bite of 87". Mike was born in '76, so that year, he would have been...  
"Eleven." He said aloud, realizing the connection.  
A guy in a Freddy suit luring 5 kids back into the storage room and killing them. Could that have been on the same day?  
Those 5 kids...He knew them. He remembered- they were friends. He thought so, at least.  
Could they have been at his party?  
He didn't have all the facts, not in a way that lined up well. But with what he did know, and with other things he assumed...  
He saw a dusty mirror, and brushed it off, looking at himself in its reflection.  
He went back over to the box. He held the hook in his hand, wrapped the bandana around his head and placed the eyepatch over his eye.  
He looked at himself in the pirate garb, and a memory came through, shining clearly.  
He remembered a restaurant from his childhood. He was running around, playing pirate with his friends. Children laughing and smiling. And he remembered a red fox, watching the fun and joining in. They were on a tiny ship, and at the helm was Foxy. "Yarr, where shall we sail today, me crew?"  
"Wherever the open sea takes us, Captain!" Mike shouted back.  
"A mighty good way for a sailor to think, Mike. Ye be a good first mate."  
Mike stood in front of the dusty old mirror, tears streaming down his face. He had been lied to. About everything. He didn't know what to do anymore. He grabbed the box, closed it, and ran.

* * *

"Mike! What took you so-" Sara froze when she saw the box in Mike's trembling hands, saw his heaving chest and streaming tears, and saw the black letters on the box.  
"When? When were you going to tell me the truth?" He shouted.  
She froze, saying nothing.  
"Were any of you going to say anything?" He screamed to the rest of his family.  
Silence.  
"Anyone?"  
Again, silence.  
"I'm leaving." He started walking away.  
"Mike, wait!" Sara called as she tried to grab ahold of her son.  
And the door slammed behind him.

* * *

"I think we'll name her-"  
Jane was cut off by the sound of the front door swinging open. Mike walked out in a fury, and pulled the door shut with a loud thud.  
Doll stood up. "Whoa, Mike, what are you-"  
"We're going. Come on." He said, carrying a cardboard box with him to the car.  
She ran after him. "Hey, what's in there?"  
Unlocking the car and climbing in without a word, Mike laid his head on the steering wheel, sobbing.  
Doll got in the passenger side, shutting the door behind her as she went to comfort her boyfriend.  
He sat upright, wiping tears from his eyes. "Fasten in." He said flatly as he keyed the ignition.  
"Mike, where are we going?"  
Mike looked into her eyes. She was scared, confused, and yet, she still stared so warmly at him. He looked back, scared and confused himself, but so cold and distant.  
And in that moment of fear and stunned confusion, with a box of spilled secrets and unanswered questions- in that climactic moment of a storm of truth breaking down the barricade of lies that had stood so strong for 11 whole years, Doll couldn't help it. She couldn't hold herself back.  
She threw her arms around him, and he began to weep on her shoulder.  
She didn't know what to say. But she did know she could say this much.  
"It's okay." She said softly, holding him tighter. "It's okay."  
And the thing was? She didn't know if it really would be.


End file.
